Saturday, October 17, 2015

||As delusional
as it may seem;
The same distance,
The entire stretch
Of the long winding road
you trod
to reach your destination;
From that point of start.
With trees,
moonwalking backwards;
Dwellings and shelters
not waving.  
Longer and farther,
it seems
as you press headfirst.
Peculiar places, landmarked.
Phases and cross roads, earmarked.
Dropping, imaginary breadcrumbs;
Paved the way
so you may
conveniently, find your way
And then, you reach.

Now, U-turn.
You’re back.
Perhaps, way quicker than
what it took you to reach;
The pursuit, an uphill climb.
The return, a steep tumble.
Perhaps, at a blink’s pace.
Note to self: "Let not
every journey turn into a race"||

Monday, September 21, 2015

pause button

||As kids we wished
upon a fast forward button.
To race ahead of time and 
turn into a grown up.
And as adults we hoped
there was a rewind button;
To travel back in time
to re-live our childhood.
While at it,
what we mostly missed out
is an option
He used on the 7th day.
If only, you could have
looked a lot closely.
You would have seen
how He sparked up an idea
to build the Pause button.
In other words,
the bring-the-world-to-a-screeching-halt
Park Bench.||

origin to destiny

||Origins, poles apart.
One flowered on a vine in the tropics.
The other, lay dissolved in the deep blue waters.
Yet, they were destined to be together forever.
Testimony; you'll find that 
perfect love in the most unusual place.||

In a cauldron;
Hot and to the brim.
Neck deep, submerged
in the warmth of
ephemeral indulgence.
They lay in each other's company, 
as a thin film
of steam enveloped them;
Building a fortress over
their porcelain haven.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

We, the herds

One foot behind another,
lefts and rights, in tandem;
Slowly they clump, together.
Marching up the hill and down,
Going round and round.
Inevitably in circles, stranded.
Nudging one’s nose
of each other’s rears;
Followers snooping into followers
And eventually into their hypothetical leaders.
A congregation led by different doctrines,
blindfolded, dipped in a myriad of shades;
Baptized, whitewashed, charcoaled
and a sizeable number: daubed in grey.
With a minority, rainbow smeared
And a majority faking the polychromatic paint;
We, the herds, of HIS pasture;
Mooch in self-righteousness
Snubbing the Shepherd.

Monday, April 06, 2015

Once the Sculptor 
dropped the chisel 
and the hammer;
He heaved a sigh 
And humbly smiled.
For he knew his creation
will one day, crumble;
And it could be when
he still has a pulse.
Or, when he had
fulfilled his purpose.
That dawn, all sorrow
would turn to joy.
When the resting
and he would rise 
to meet the Risen.


Between the curtains,
Under the table,
Beneath the cot,
Inside the dried up
overhead tank,
Under the staircase,
Behind the couch,
Atop the roof or
Tucked into an attic.
We all had our own fort
where even the sun sought
our permission to seep in.
Our kingdom where
we reigned and
found refuge;
And then came Time;
The sly intruder to mess up the order.
Slipped right through us
When we seldom
had a clue.
Greasing our grips
and loosening our fists
From the gates
Of innocence and imagination;
And we outgrew those spaces that contained us.
Alas, for many,
the forts remained.
The walls:
Built around us
with our minds.
we had our hiding place some place else.
we conveniently hide within ourselves.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

The Privacy Fallacy

"Trespassers will be prosecuted"
"Do not disturb"
"Beware of Dogs"
Well, some of these signs 
along with two or more locks on your door. 
And a sky high fortress of walls,
four or more;
Is all you have to ward those
eyes in the sky.
But your windows
are as bare naked as
their peering eyes.
With blinds rolled up
and curtains slid to corners,
they have the best view 
to your so called private suite.
After all, privacy is a fallacy.
For the fortress you assume 
you live in
Is nothing but 
the Emperor's new clothes.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015


Unfurled and gliding;
Like a waving flag 
Torn free from its pole.
He just hovered for a while 
till he caught an airstream.
Riding high, 
riding low;
Rode the currents 
like a ray in the ocean.
Melded amongst 
the circling Kites, 
in perfect symmetry;
He saved his verve 
to soar in one go.
Slipped stealthily, 
And detached from the coiling tornado.
Making rectangular shaped slots
In gigantic, unsuspecting clouds; 
He winged and slid 
through the slit of the horizon.
Making way out of this earth 
He wished to leap in outright elation; 
But, he lay suspended in space, in doldrums.
The Magic Carpet was now under a vertiginous hex; 

That instant, a pair of soiled boots
Marched and halted on his face; 
Stomped, dusted;
Waking him up 
From his routine pipe dream;
Ruffled, for not more than a minute;
He resumed, slipped back to slumber.
Awoke swooping down, 
And took off over
a floor of dandelions.
Dream after dream 
The Foot Rug chose to live, unperturbed by reality.